


Mr. Jingles

by adrianna_m_scovill



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Blood and Violence, Christmas Presents, Evil Toys, F/M, Horror, Mild Gore, Mild Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-02
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:01:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27338332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adrianna_m_scovill/pseuds/adrianna_m_scovill
Summary: Noah gets a Christmas present that doesn't end up bringing much holiday joy.
Relationships: Rafael Barba/Olivia Benson
Comments: 10
Kudos: 68





	Mr. Jingles

**Author's Note:**

> I miss writing horror stories so I wanted to write something for Halloween, but this ended up being pretty ridiculous. LMAO. Oh well, it distracted me for a bit. Now back to finishing kinktober prompts before the end of November :/

“This one’s from Grandma Lucia!” Noah exclaimed, holding up a brightly-wrapped box that was larger than his head. He gave the package a little shake, and from inside came a faint, muffled _clang_ —almost like the ring of a bell, but not quite.

Barba’s smile froze on his face, and his coffee instantly soured in his stomach. He opened his mouth to tell Noah not to open the box, to put it down, but he managed to choke back the words. A small sound escaped his throat, and Benson, snuggled up beside him on the sofa, cast him a curious look. Barba cleared his throat to cover, telling himself he was being ridiculous.

Noah tore off the paper and found a plain cardboard box. When he opened it, he peered inside and pulled out a card. 

“What’s it say?” Benson asked, sipping her coffee. 

Noah glanced up at her, the Christmas lights dancing in his eyes, before looking inside the card. “‘Dearest _nieto_ ,’” he read, “‘I found this while cleaning out storage and thought you might enjoy it. It belonged to Rafael as a boy. Don’t tell him I said so—’” Noah paused, glancing up at Barba and Benson.

“Go ahead,” Benson said, clearly amused.

Barba tried to force a smile, but he knew what was coming and there was nothing he could do about the cold lump of dread that had settled into his stomach.

“‘Don’t tell him I said so, but he used to be quite frightened by it. Merry Christmas, Noah. Love, Grandma.’”

“What is it?” Benson asked, glancing at Barba, but all he could do was shake his head. Noah reached into the box with both hands and pulled out a lump of matted-looking brown fur. It was ten inches high and nearly as wide. It made a few dull, metallic sounds, and Noah studied it curiously for a few seconds before turning it around. “Cymbals?” Benson murmured into her coffee mug. “That’s gonna get old quickly, if it works.”

Barba wasn’t looking at the cymbals, though. He was staring into the monkey’s black and yellow eyes, eyes that were terrifyingly familiar, and he felt his testicles draw up in instinctive fear. He struggled to swallow, frozen in the monkey’s stare.

The cymbals suddenly slammed together, sending a ringing clang through the apartment, and Barba jumped with another involuntary sound. 

Noah didn’t notice. “It works!” he exclaimed, giving the key in the monkey’s back a few more turns before setting the toy on the rug. Its lips curled up, revealing two rows of white teeth as it slapped its cymbals together, staring sightlessly out of large black pupils surrounded by ugly yellow irises, _clang clang clang_ —each metallic ring made Barba’s stomach clench tighter, until he wanted to scream for it to stop.

“Are you okay?” Benson asked him, leaning closer. 

“Fine,” he lied. He cleared his throat again. “I just—she’s right, I never liked it. It’s creepy.” That was an understatement, but he couldn’t bring himself to explain further. 

“It’s ugly, I’ll give you that,” she said. “Except the bow tie is kind of cute. I’ve seen other ones with vests or striped pants and stuff.” Noah was ignoring them, happily moving on to the next present while the monkey, blessedly quiet for the moment, sat beside him on the rug. “But this guy’s just full naked except the tie.” She regarded Barba’s profile, but he couldn’t make himself smile. “Where’d you get it?”

“I saw it antique shopping with _Abuelita_. I’d seen something similar on the cover of a Stephen King collection, begged her to buy it for me. She hated it, but I wore her down.” For a few moments, he was transported back to that dim, dusty old shop, walking hand in hand with his grandmother, and his wistfulness pushed back some of his unease about the monkey.

“Well no wonder you were scared of it,” she said. “Stephen King? I’m sure there was a horror movie, too, I can remember the box—”

“I like it,” Noah offered without looking over at them. He was tearing the paper off another box, one that Barba knew held a set of Star Wars Legos. 

“That’s good,” Barba managed, even though he didn’t want it in the apartment. He knew he was being ridiculous, knew he couldn’t deprive Noah because of some silly childhood nightmares, so he was going to have to get a handle on his nerves. It was just a stupid old toy. 

“Does he have a name?” Noah asked.

“I called it Mr. Jingles,” Barba said, tearing his gaze away from the yellow eyes. He gave Benson a quick kiss and pulled her almost-empty mug from her fingers. “I’ll refresh these,” he said, getting to his feet with both cups. He’d only taken a few steps toward the kitchen when Noah’s voice stopped him.

“Rafa?” Barba turned to look back, and Noah held up the monkey, thrusting it toward Barba even though he was ten feet away. “Boo!”

Barba started despite himself, his heart skittering in his chest. He almost dropped the mugs as he brought his hands partway up in defense. Ugly yellow eyes glared at him from ugly brown fur. And then Noah laughed, setting the monkey back down on the rug, and Barba forced a smile to his numb lips.

“Be nice,” Benson admonished her son, but Barba turned toward the kitchen before she could properly read his face. He knew she wouldn’t mock his fear if he tried to explain it, but she also wouldn’t _understand_ it, not really, and it was pointless to revisit old memories. The shock of seeing the monkey—which he’d thought was gone forever from his life—so unexpectedly had wreaked havoc on his nerves, but the surprise would wear off and he’d get used to the sight of it.

Or so he told himself. 

***

“Goodnight, _mijo_ ,” Barba said, kissing Noah’s forehead and setting aside the book they’d just finished reading. “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas, Rafa,” Noah said on a yawn, snuggling down under his covers and hugging Eddie the Elephant to his chest. 

“Sleep tight. See you in the morning.” Barba got up from the edge of the bed and walked to the door, turning to look back. “Love you.”

“Love you, too,” Noah murmured sleepily. He’d had a long day, and the sugar crash was hitting him hard. Barba knew he’d be out cold in no time. 

Barba reached for the lightswitch and looked at the monkey, sitting serenely on top of Noah’s dresser, staring blankly ahead. Barba flipped the switch, and as the overhead light went off and the darkness-activated nightlights came on, the shadows leapt upward, making it look as though the monkey had doubled in size. 

But it was just the same antique windup toy, with eyes that were painted black and yellow and fur that was matted from the fingers of countless children who’d probably loved the damned thing. 

Barba pulled the bedroom door almost closed, leaving it cracked the way Noah preferred, and went to join Benson in their bed. 

***

“Did you hear that?” Barba asked, freezing in mid-thrust, half-buried inside Benson as his head snapped up and turned toward the door. 

“No,” she answered, clutching at his hips to urge him to keep moving. She squirmed beneath him, peering up at his face in the darkness. “What?” she asked after a moment when he didn’t immediately resume. “Noah?”

“No, I...thought I heard—” _cymbals_. He closed his eyes, drawing a breath. “Sorry,” he said, doing his best to shake off the feeling of dread. He ducked his head, kissing her lips before nuzzling down to the side of her neck. He flexed his hips slowly, trying to ease back into the rhythm he’d lost.

“Are you okay?” she asked, running one hand into his hair and the other over his sweaty back. “That thing really got under your skin, huh?” Her voice was gentle, sympathetic to the boy he’d once been. But Barba was no longer a kid, and he couldn’t get caught up in childish imaginings. 

“Maybe,” he allowed, shifting his hips again and earning a soft gasp from her lips. “I just remember it would sometimes make noise in the night.”

“It’s old,” she said, her hands sliding down to grip his ass as he moved again. “Mechanics are probably worn…” She didn’t finish the thought, instead letting out a soft cry as Barba reached between them and found her clit with his fingers. She convulsed around him, tightening as she came, and his climax followed hers moments later. He stilled as he spilled himself inside her, doing his best to ignore the prickle across his nape. He focused on the sound of her breaths, the feel of her warmth, the scent of her hair, the touch of her fingers. 

A few minutes later, when she was in the bathroom, he slipped over to Noah’s bedroom to peek inside, telling himself he only wanted to make sure Noah was sleeping.

He was—snuggled in bed, breathing evenly, with his arm wrapped around a monkey instead of an elephant.

***

For the first few days, Noah carried the fucking monkey _everywhere_ in the apartment, letting it jingle-jangle in the curve of his arm as he walked, and he would sometimes wind it without warning and let the cymbals _clang clang clang_ until they slowed to a stop. 

Barba wasn’t sure how much his nerves could handle, but he slowly grew desensitized to the noise. It was a relief, not jumping out of his skin every time he heard the sound, but the underlying sense of unease never went away. He avoided making eye contact with the toy, knowing it was ridiculous but doing it anyway. 

As the week wore on, Noah seemed to grow tired of the monkey, perhaps bored by the old one-trick toy, and it began spending most of its day on the dresser in his room. If Barba checked on Noah in the middle of the night, however, drawn by a random metallic sound, he always found that Noah had the monkey in bed with him.

On New Year’s Eve, when Barba carried an armload of fresh laundry into Noah’s room to put away, he noticed immediately that the monkey wasn’t in its usual spot on the dresser. It wasn’t in the bed, either. Barba put the clothes away, doing his best to ignore the slither of unease, and then made a quick sweep of the room. He didn’t see the old toy anywhere.

Noah was sitting on the floor between the couch and coffee table, watching cartoons and eating cereal. Barba didn’t see the monkey in the living room, either, and he was about to ask Noah where it was when Benson’s voice in the kitchen got his attention.

“Noah, come here, please,” she said, and as Noah got up and headed toward her, Barba also moved in that direction. It was clear from her tone that something was wrong. 

“Yeah, Mom?”

“Why is Mr. Jingles in the trash?” she asked, tilting the garbage can under the sink so Barba and Noah could both see the monkey peeking out from under wads of paper towels.

Noah’s shoulders went up a little. He glanced at Barba. “I dunno,” he mumbled, an obvious lie.

Benson glanced at Barba, too, but she didn’t ask if he’d done it; she knew he wouldn’t throw out one of Noah’s toys, no matter how much he might dislike it. “Noah,” she said, her voice a little sharper.

“I don’t like it,” Noah said, and his voice was edging into a whine. He fidgeted with the bottom of his flannel shirt, twisting it around his fingers. “I don’t want it anymore.”

“Noah, Rafael’s mother gave this to you because it was something of his from when he was little. If you don’t want to play with it, you don’t have to, but you cannot just throw something like this in the garbage. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Noah muttered. 

“If he doesn’t want to keep it, he doesn’t have to,” Barba said, hating himself for the relief he felt at the thought of the toy being out of the apartment—and the guilt of knowing his own irrational fears had probably made Noah afraid of the thing. 

“We’ll talk about it later,” Benson said, fishing the monkey out of the garbage and giving it a quick once-over to make sure it wasn’t covered in slime or food scraps. “Take it in your room,” she told Noah, holding it out, and Noah reluctantly pulled it from her hand and turned to carry it toward his bedroom. 

When they were alone, Barba walked over to her and lowered his voice, saying, “I wasn’t trying to contradict you, but it’s not that big a deal. It’s really not some family heirloom, she knows I hated it and probably thinks it’s hilarious that it’s tormenting me now—”

“If you really hate it so much, and he doesn’t like it, we can box it back up. But he needs to have enough respect not to hide things in the garbage.”

“Okay, you’re right. I’m sorry I—”

“Hey,” she said, laying a hand on his chest. “You and I are a team, here. _I_ didn’t mean to contradict _you_.” She leaned in and kissed him. “Besides,” she added quietly, “I’m not sorry we don’t have to listen to those cymbals all day anymore.”

Barba grinned. “Let’s pray Noah never takes up the drums.”

***

Noah made it to midnight to watch the countdown to the new year, but barely. He was asleep when Barba carried him to bed, and Barba and Benson both kissed his head as she tucked him in for the night. 

They started out of the room together, but Benson’s steps faltered as she realized the monkey wasn’t on the dresser. Barba had noticed immediately, but hadn’t wanted her to realize that his eyes always sought the toy out upon first entering the room. 

“Where’d he put—” she started.

As though on cue, there was a single muffled _clang_ from the corner of the room, and Barba’s balls instantly tried to climb up into his gut. He looked toward the sound, eyes searching a bit frantically in the soft glow of the nightlights.

“Toybox?” she suggested, walking toward it. Barba almost grabbed her arm, but forced himself to walk beside her instead. There were several stuffed animals perched on top of the box, as well as a stack of books. Barba helped her move everything to the floor and then watched as she lifted the lid. 

Barba braced himself, half expecting a furry mass to launch at his face. It was too dark to properly see into the chest, so he pulled out his phone with shaking fingers and managed to turn on the flashlight. He pointed it into the shadowy recesses. 

She didn’t comment on the slight waver of the light. She reached in and shifted toys around, finally finding the monkey buried in the bottom corner. It gave a half-hearted jingle as she jostled it. 

“Well,” Barba said, and she thankfully didn’t comment on the slight waver in his _voice_ , either, “at least it’s not the garbage.”

“Mm.” She replaced the toys and lowered the lid, not bothering to put the books and animals back on top. The books belonged on the shelf, anyway, and Noah’s room was overdue for a cleaning. Probably a good project for the first day of the year. “I’ll box it up tomorrow if he really doesn’t want it in his room.”

***

Barba walked into Noah’s room in the morning to find the boy sitting on the bed, staring at the monkey on top of the toybox. Benson had been called away early, and Barba hadn’t even heard Noah get up.

“Hey, buddy,” he said, glancing at Mr. Jingles before turning his attention back to Noah. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Noah answered, not at all convincingly. “Is Mom working?”

“She is. You want some breakfast? I can make omelets.”

“Okay,” Noah said, getting up and walking over to Barba. He reached out and slipped his hand into Barba’s.

Barba was surprised, but he gave an encouraging squeeze when he felt how tightly Noah’s fingers were gripping him. With one last look at the monkey, Noah started out of the room with Barba. “You want to watch cartoons?” Barba asked, but Noah shook his head and held onto his hand.

The boy didn’t speak until they reached the kitchen, and then Barba turned and sank into a crouch. Noah regarded him with large, solemn eyes, his sleep-tousled curls tangled around his face. 

“What’s wrong, honey?” Barba asked, instinctively keeping his voice low as if there were anyone to overhear them. His stomach squirmed when Noah glanced back toward his bedroom.

“Uncle Rafa,” Noah whispered, reaching out to put a hand on Barba’s shoulder. He fingered Barba’s t-shirt, chewing his lip for a few seconds. “I don’t like Mr. Jingles.”

“Okay, well, we can—”

“I think he’s alive,” Noah breathed, staring at Barba.

Barba felt a strange mixture of relief—that someone else finally felt it, too—and cold fear as he looked into the frightened boy’s face. “It’s only an old toy,” he heard himself say, not at all convincingly. “I used to have some nightmares about it, and I know I haven’t done a very good job of hiding the fact that I don’t like it. I’m sorry if I made you—”

“He moves around when I’m not looking,” Noah said, the words sending a cold shiver down Barba’s back. “And he makes noise when I don’t wind him up.”

“Old mechanics,” Barba muttered.

“Please believe me,” Noah whispered, clutching at Barba’s shirt and staring at him with a plea in his eyes that Barba couldn’t possibly deny.

“It’s okay,” Barba said. “Hey, it’s okay. Come here,” Barba said, pulling the boy into a brief but tight hug. “I believe you.” Barba knew that the responsible thing to do was reiterate that the fear was unfounded, that it was simply a toy, that there was nothing to worry about. But he _did_ believe Noah, as much as he’d like to pretend he didn’t. As much as he’d like to pretend his old memories were nightmares. He pushed Noah back, holding his arms to look at his face. “Has it hurt you?”

“No. I think it just likes making me scared.”

Barba understood exactly what he meant, and said, “I’ll take care of it, you don’t have to worry. Okay?”

Noah nodded solemnly, some of the tension easing from his small frame, but a moment later they both jumped as a series of clangs rang through the apartment—one, two, three...a pause, and then three more in quick succession. Barba, still holding Noah’s arms, could feel the boy trembling.

Noah’s fear overrode Barba’s, pushing it to the back burner. Noah’s safety was all that mattered, and Barba rose to his feet and started toward the boy’s bedroom. It was time to get rid of the damned toy once and for all. He would put it into the trash compactor or throw it under the wheels of a bus or set it on fire, but he wasn’t going to let Noah be terrorized the way Barba had been. No one had listened to him—not even _Abuelita_ , who’d hated the toy and almost always sided with her precious _nieto_ , had believed him. 

Mr. Jingles had never physically harmed him, but Barba had become terrified to fall asleep. And, when he did sleep, he would often wet the bed during nightmares, prompting his father to take a belt to him. 

His father was the one who finally rescued him, in a way, saying he was sick of hearing the godforsaken cymbals at all hours of the day and night, and that he was sick of dealing with his sissy son being so afraid of a windup toy that he pissed himself every other night. He’d put the monkey in a box of stuff that Lucia was planning on donating, and Barba never saw Mr. Jingles again until Noah opened that present. 

Barba drew up short in Noah’s bedroom doorway, because the monkey wasn’t on the toybox. Noah, following closely behind him, bumped into him and then grabbed hold of his shirt, peeking around him into the bedroom. 

Barba pulled in a deep breath to calm himself, refusing to let his panic take root. His heart was slamming in his chest, but he scanned the room, looking for brown fur and yellow eyes and glinting metal cymbals.

A single _clang_ made Barba and Noah both whirl around, and Barba hurried toward the bedroom he shared with the boy’s mother. Noah followed him but stopped in the doorway, making a small whimpering sound at the sight of the monkey sitting on the bed.

Barba walked toward it, skin tingling and heart pounding, balls drawn up tight, fingers trembling. The monkey stared at him, unmoving as Barba approached. Barba still managed to keep the bulk of his panic at bay. Even if the thing was sentient, even if it was _evil_ , it was a ten-inch toy. He could drop-kick it out the window.

The monkey’s lips curled back from its teeth as Barba drew near, and Barba’s stomach churned. He felt a flare of anger, too, though. Noah was huddled in the doorway, terrified but trusting Barba to protect him. Barba wouldn’t let the boy’s fear continue.

“Your reign of terror is over, you ugly fuck,” he muttered, reaching out to grab the toy. “All you had to do was sit on a shelf—”

The monkey moved so quickly that Barba had only begun to flinch when the cymbals sliced into his skin, cutting parallel lines into the back of his hand and his palm. Barba yanked his hand away with a startled yelp and stumbled back a step, but the monkey launched at his face, cymbals beating as the monstrosity shot through the air.

Underneath the clatter of metal, Barba could hear a _chattering_ sound, and he could see the monkey’s lips opening and closing— 

Barba threw out an arm, catching the monkey in midair and sending it sailing across the room. It crashed into the wall with a thunk and dull jangle, stopped in mid-clang, and dropped to the floor on the far side of the bed. 

“Jesus fucking _Christ_ ,” Barba muttered shakily, glancing down at his bleeding hand. The cuts didn’t appear too deep, but they stung. 

“It’s okay, you can stay, don’t be mad,” Noah was crying. “We won’t—”

“What’s going on in here?” Benson asked, and Noah mewled in fear as he whirled toward the sound of her voice directly behind him.

Barba also whipped around, heart battering the inside of his ribcage. “Liv,” he said, unable to keep the fear and relief from his voice.

She wrapped a protective arm around Noah when the boy threw himself against her waist. “What—”

“Mr. Jingles is alive, Momma,” Noah said, burying his face against her shirt. “And he’s mean.”

Benson opened her mouth to reassure her son, but her words faltered when she registered the look on Barba’s face. She knew in an instant that they weren’t playing a game, and that Barba was genuinely terrified.

“I know it sounds insane, Liv, believe me,” Barba said, turning his head to scan the floor and make sure the toy wasn’t creeping up on him. “It fell behind the bed, I’m not sure if it’s broken…” He licked his lip and, gathering his courage, sank into a crouch to peer beneath the bed. “But he’s right, it’s alive or possessed or something. And I think it’s pissed about being locked away…” He trailed off, barely aware of what he was saying anyway, as he reached out his uninjured hand to lift the edge of the bedspread out of the way. 

“Rafael,” Benson said, but he couldn’t look at her. 

The monkey was lying on its side, much closer than he’d expected, staring out at him from the shadows. 

It could’ve bounced off the wall and rolled. That could explain why the cymbals were angled inward, like the monkey’s arms were bent differently than before. 

It could’ve had enough force to roll the width of the queen size mattress. 

Barba reached under the bed and grabbed the toy by its neck before he could chicken out. He used his bloody hand, gritting his teeth against the pain as he closed his lacerated palm around the matted fur, and braced himself for an attack.

The monkey didn’t move. It felt stiff and decidedly inanimate in his grip as he hauled it out by the back of its neck—sure to keep the cymbals, now streaked with his blood, pointed away from his vital arteries. 

“Is it dead?” Noah asked, half-turning his face out of Benson’s shirt to see. 

Barba rose slowly to his feet, staring at the toy, looking for any sign of life or movement. It stared blankly from painted yellow eyes. Barba, holding tightly to the back of its neck, gave it a shake and its innards jangled quietly. The cymbals jiggled with a little rattle but didn’t clap together. 

“Rafael,” Benson repeated.

Barba looked at her, and then down at Noah, and then back at her. The skeptical look on her face was understandable, and Barba wouldn’t blame her if she tried to get him committed somewhere. He knew it sounded ridiculous, impossible. He knew he’d sounded like a hysterical kid when he’d tried to explain to his parents that the toy could move itself around when no one was watching, and he knew he didn’t sound any better as an adult.

“Liv,” he said, holding her gaze. “I know how we sound, how _I_ sound, but I need you to trust me.” _I need you to believe me_. 

She searched his eyes for only a moment before saying, “Okay.” She looked down at Noah and said, “Wait here, honey.” He let go of her waist and stepped back into the doorway, looking scared but confident that she and Barba would keep him safe.

“What do you mean, okay?” Barba asked as she started toward him. “I’m not crazy—”

“Rafael, if you say it’s true, I believe you. I don’t understand it, I don’t know how it’s possible, but I know _you_.” She studied the monkey for a few seconds, and the distrust and unease in her expression sent a rush of cool relief through Barba. “What do we do with it?” Her eyes lingered on the blood on his hand and wrist, but she didn’t comment or ask how badly he was hurt. That was for later. “If it’s dangerous, we can’t let anyone else—”

The monkey’s lips curled back from its teeth and Barba felt the furry body shift in his grip, twisting. From somewhere inside came that ominous chattering sound again. Barba half expected to see its teeth snapping together, but they didn’t move. 

_Maybe it’s limited by its mechanical_ —

Barba’s brain didn’t finish the thought, because the monkey suddenly kicked against his wrist and launched itself at Barba’s face, screeching in a decidedly _non_ -mechanical way. Barba flinched, grabbing for the flying ball of fur even as he felt metal slice into his jaw.

“ _Shoot it, Mommy_ ,” Noah cried.

Benson snatched the monkey while it was still in midair, as Barba was flailing his arms and stumbling backward with his heart in his throat. He opened his mouth to shout a warning when she caught it by one thin arm, but before he could manage a sound he watched her grab both arms between the body and cymbals and, while the monkey was writhing and chattering, pull them quickly and sharply toward its back.

There was a sickening series of _cracks_ that made Barba’s stomach churn, and a scream of pure rage that almost made his bladder lose its grip on his morning coffee. 

The monkey’s face started to turn toward Benson.

She grabbed the top of its head, twisted with a quick flick of her wrist, and snapped it clean off the body. The screeching and chattering stopped instantly, plunging the room into silence as everyone stood in stunned disbelief. 

Benson held the broken body in one hand and the head in the other, and she stared down at them, silently daring them to try something else. From inside the body came a few soft jingles, but those seemed to be caused by the tremble in her hand.

“ _Jesus_ ,” Barba breathed. His jaw was bleeding—he could feel the blood trickling down to his throat—and his hand felt like it was on fire, but he didn’t think he was injured too seriously. He was going to need to figure out a cover story for the new scars if anyone asked, because he wasn’t about to tell the truth. 

“Well,” Benson said with only a faint tremor in her voice, “I think we took care of that.”

A hysterical laugh bubbled up in Barba’s throat and he choked it back, making only a small, garbled sound. “Now what do we do?” he managed after a moment.

“Burn it,” Noah said in the doorway.

“I agree with him,” Barba said, hooking a thumb toward the boy. “Let’s find an incinerator—” He broke off, eying the decapitated monkey as a faint chattering noise wafted out of the body.

“Right. Burning it is,” Benson said. “Noah, get me a garbage bag so I don’t have to touch this thing anymore.” 

As soon as the boy turned to hurry toward the kitchen for a bag, Benson and Barba looked at each other. She surveyed his bleeding face and he was relieved to see sympathy but not outright alarm.

“Ruin my boyish looks?” he joked. 

“No, babe, I’m afraid the last several decades did that,” she answered, and he laughed—amazed to find he _could_ laugh. He felt like a weight had been lifted off his chest, making it suddenly easier to breathe, a weight he hadn’t even realized was pressing down on him. 

It wasn’t just that Mr. Jingles appeared to be out of commission. It was that Olivia Benson always had his back, and that meant more than he could say. “I love you,” he said instead; the rest would have to wait until later. “I’d kiss you, but…” He glanced at the monkey in her hands and grimaced. 

“Later,” she promised. “And then you can explain to me what the hell has been going on. Oh, and I’m tearing up that thank you card I had Noah write to your mother,” she added, and Barba was laughing when Noah arrived with a bag and held it open for Mr. Jingles.   



End file.
